


pride

by cautiouslyoptimistic



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24595507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cautiouslyoptimistic/pseuds/cautiouslyoptimistic
Summary: she could feel octavia’s glare, but she ignored itor, lexa makes a bad impression and clarke holds a grudge
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 19
Kudos: 245





	pride

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: if anyone wants to fall in love with me i am what austen would call a single woman with decent-ish financial prospects in want of a gf. anyway this is a mini pride and prejudice au (and a repost!)

She could feel Octavia’s glare, but she ignored it, far more interested in reading the summary on the back of the book, debating on whether or not she was willing to spend her rather valuable time on what seemed like an incredibly hackneyed plot. She only considered it for a second; with a sigh and a theatrical roll of her eyes, she grasped the book tightly by its spine and stepped over to the cashier with a bright smile.

“It’s cliché for a reason,” she said when the cashier raised her eyebrows at the novel’s title.

“Hey. No judgments here,” she said (though her tone indicated she was totally judging, which really, wasn’t fair at all— _clearly_ she’d read the book too), ringing Clarke up and bagging the book. Clarke continued to avoid Octavia’s look as she pocketed her change, picked up the bagged book, and walked out of the bookstore, a slight spring to her step at the thought of her most recent purchase.

“ _Clarke_ ,” Octavia hissed, following her carefully, tugging on her elbow every few seconds. “ _Please_.”

“I don’t want to, Octavia. Stop asking.” (It was a futile request—Octavia wasn’t going to stop asking.)

“Everyone will be there. Even Bellamy and Raven are going.” (Clarke hated that she knew her friend so well.)

“Then why ask me to go?”

“Because I need you, okay?” Her tone was pathetic—in fact, it was _desperate_ , and it wasn’t something Clarke was used to, at least not from Octavia. She had the brief urge to take advantage of the situation, to tease her friend relentlessly, but instead she slowed, allowing Octavia to step in front of her, eyes fixed on some point above Clarke’s head, as if direct contact would be too much.

“Why?” Clarke prompted when it looked like Octavia wasn’t going to say anything.

“Because,” she muttered as if the single word was enough of an explanation, shrugging helplessly and swallowing hard when Clarke merely glared. “ _Fine_. Collins is going to the wedding. And you _know_ what he’ll do.” Clarke, who had a small amused smile growing on her face, snorted loudly—and unattractively, though she wasn’t going to admit to that—before shaking her head and walking off, not bothering to check if Octavia was following.

“Hell no,” she said as she walked. “No way. I’m not going _anywhere_ that he’ll be.”

“But I need you, Clarke! You know how he is. No one can get him to fuck off but you.” Clarke came to an abrupt halt, turning to Octavia with narrowed eyes.

“Why do you need him to fuck off?”

“Clarke—”

“I’m not going anywhere until I have the whole truth, Octavia.” The other girl looked like she was struggling for a moment, then with a huge exhale, she rolled her eyes and stopped her minor temper tantrum.

“The Woods are coming.” Clarke raised an eyebrow, confused.

“What?”

“The Woods,” she repeated, as if it should somehow strike a chord in her. “You know, the richest family in Polis? Rumor has it that Lincoln Woods is looking for a wife,” she tacked on, grinning wickedly.

“I didn’t know you were looking for a husband,” Clarke said, crossing her arms over her chest, frowning deeply.

“I’m not. But I also can’t let this opportunity pass.” She winked, and Clarke felt her frown turn into a grimace.

“So you want me to what? Distract Collins so that you can go off with a man who’s looking for a wife and not a hook up?” Octavia only raised her eyebrows in response, making Clarke snort in amusement despite herself. “If I do this, you’ll owe me big, you know that right?”

“If you do this,” Octavia said sweetly, linking their arms together, “I’ll name my firstborn after you.”

“I wouldn’t talk about having kids, Octavia. You may jinx yourself.” But all she got for her warning was a laugh and a kiss to the cheek.

//

There wasn’t much that could particularly bother Clarke. She was fond of her large and just a tad dysfunctional family, she was fond of her job and the steady (if small) paycheck it provided, and she was even fond of growing up in a small town where gossip traveled faster than the speed of light.

She wasn’t fond, however, of Finn Collins.

She could trace the source of her dislike back to the first day of middle school, when Finn had tugged on her hair and then ‘accidentally’ spilled blue paint all over her uniform. An accident she could have forgiven, but the way his eyes lit up—the way he barked out a laugh and called her a Smurf for the rest of the day—well, that made him incur the wrath of what Octavia liked to call ‘the deadly Griffin grudge.’ And Finn, though his sense of humor left much to be desired, wasn’t exactly an idiot (though, honestly, Clarke was willing to stop the presses on that assumption, she hadn’t quite made up her mind about his intelligence, or its lack thereof). He knew she didn’t like him, and he knew when to make himself scarce before she even said a word.

The trouble, of course, was that Octavia and others liked to take advantage of Clarke’s seemingly unfettered control over Finn. As Octavia had so aptly said, Clarke was the only one who could get Finn to fuck off when the situation was dire.

And apparently, this wedding was such a situation.

She wasn’t exactly sure _who_ was getting married (she wasn’t even quite sure she was actually _invited_ ), and though the flower arrangements looked rather tacky and the cake didn’t taste all that great, the wedding was fine. There was dancing and laughing and people sneaking off to make out in the back, and the bride and groom looked like they were enjoying the revelry. Hell, even though Clarke wasn’t exactly fond of loud music (or people), she’d actually go as far as to say she was having fun.

In hindsight, that in and of itself should’ve tipped her off. Nothing, _nothing_ , ever went well with the combination of Octavia, people to impress, Finn, and alcohol.

(She should’ve _known_ better.)

“Okay, Clarke,” Finn slurred as he stumbled over to her, Bellamy and Raven (on ‘keeping Finn out of trouble duty’ though they were failing at it miserably) wincing in unison, “we gotta talk.”

“Go away, Finn.”

“No, I have some things I wanna say.”

“I don’t care, go _away_.” The alcohol must’ve given more liquid courage than she thought, because rather than go away, he leaned forward, pressing a sloppy kiss on her lips just as Octavia bounded over with two strangers in tow. “I love you, Clarke” Finn said pathetically when Clarke shoved him off her, resisting the urge to frantically wipe at her mouth in front of two strangers.

“Bellamy!” Clarke hissed, and he stepped forward, gently pulling Finn away, but sadly, Finn wasn’t through. He turned to Octavia and the strangers, his brows furrowed and his bottom lip trembling.

“It’s your fault,” he said, taking a step towards Octavia, only to find himself unable to do so because of Bellamy’s firm grasp. “You’re the one that made her hate me.”

“Oh buddy,” Raven said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly (Clarke never did understand Raven’s unfortunate fondness for Collins), “you’re doing a good job of it all on your own.” She grabbed Finn by the other arm, shaking her head and mouthing a quick apology to both Clarke and Octavia. “We’ll get him home, maybe when he sobers up he’ll realize how much of a dick he’s been.” Finn muttered something incomprehensible under his breath, but he went totally ignored. Raven and Bellamy dragged him away, Clarke finally gave into the urge to wipe at her mouth with her napkin (though she tried to pretend it wasn’t as frantic and compulsive as it actually was), and Octavia let out a long sigh, looking embarrassed.

“I’m sorry about Finn,” she said, turning to the strangers, both of whom looked rather repulsed by what they’d seen, though the man—tall and lean, with kind eyes and a shaved head—seemed to actually be attempting to hide his feelings. The woman next to him—shorter, with brilliant green eyes—didn’t have the same reservations. She openly scowled, though whether it was at the scene Finn caused, at Clarke’s continued wiping of her mouth, at Octavia’s admittedly lame explanation for their friend (and Clarke was using the word ‘friend’ in the loosest way possible), Clarke didn’t know or care.

Honestly, if anyone thought that her idea of a good time involved having Finn confess feelings for the umpteenth time (feelings she’d take seriously if he wasn’t _always_ drunk when confessing them) and being slobbered on, that person could fuck off.

(And if there was a part of Clarke that was willing to forgive the woman immediately if she did something other than scowl judgmentally, it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she was pretty.)

( _Seriously_.)

“It’s okay,” the man said, smiling awkwardly. He held out his hand for Clarke. “I’m Lincoln Woods,” he continued genially enough, and when the woman next to him made no move to introduce herself, he blushed and did it for her. “And the quiet one is my sister, Lexa. She’s shy.”

“Right,” Lexa said curtly, and Clarke hated her because even her _voice_ was pretty, which made the fact that she was an asshole somewhat tragic.

“Clarke Griffin,” she offered, shaking Lincoln’s hand and not even bothering to see if _Lexa_ would accept a handshake. “Enjoying the wedding?”

“Oh yes,” Lincoln said. “Especially the last hour I’ve spent with Octavia.” He grinned so genuinely, looked so utterly infatuated, that Clarke couldn’t help but smile. What shocked her, however, was that Octavia had the same sappy look as Lincoln. “I hear you’re sisters?”

“No,” Clarke laughed, shaking her head. “But the Blakes are my siblings, in all but blood.” Lincoln looked confused, but before Clarke could elaborate, Octavia stepped noticeably closer to him and hurriedly explained.

“Our parents and Clarke’s dad died in a car accident seven years ago. Abby—Clarke’s mom—took us in.” Lexa, who’d assumed a look of utter boredom throughout the conversation, chose that moment to reanimate, her eyes widening slightly (almost, as if, with compassion, forcing Clarke to reevaluate her assumption that the woman had no heart). Clarke felt herself soften towards the jerk with the pretty eyes and pretty voice.

“It’s something we have in common, I guess,” Lincoln murmured, actually reaching out to take Octavia’s hand. He raised it to his lips and kissed it gently before letting it go, looking for all the world like an Austenian gentleman. Lexa and Clarke rolled their eyes nearly simultaneously, Lexa barely giving her a tiny grin when she noticed. It wasn’t exactly an offer of friendship, but hell, her smile—even as she tried to suppress it—was pretty, so Clarke grasped at it nonetheless.

(Was it _wrong_ that she was so moved by such shallow things?)

(In hindsight, absolutely.)

They talked a bit more after that—i.e. Lincoln and Octavia talked while Clarke made faces behind her friend’s back and Lexa valiantly tried to keep a straight face (which, Clarke was thrilled to see, she was having a great deal of trouble with)—but soon enough, Lexa tapped Lincoln on the shoulder muttering something about having books at home she wanted to read (a desire Clarke absolutely understood, feeling a kinship stir, something that went beyond mere looks), and the two of them left. 

In fact, it was much later, as Clarke was thinking about asking Octavia if the four of them could spend more time together, that she saw Lincoln and Lexa (who’d somehow not noticed her and for whatever reason, clearly had _not_ left) chatting away.

“—oh come on, you can’t be so tough on people you don’t even know,” Lincoln was saying, shaking his head.

“Please, did you see the drunk one? I’m not telling you how to live your life, but if that’s the sort of person they choose to be friends with…” she trailed off ominously and Clarke felt her temper flare. As if she was anything _close_ to being a friend to fucking Finn Collins.

“But I like her, Lexa,” Lincoln continued, wringing his hands in frustration. “And you have to admit you liked her sister, you think I’m blind?” Lexa blinked, her expression utterly open for a split second (though sadly, Clarke didn’t know Lexa well enough to know what the wide eyes and slightly parted lips and furrowed brows meant, for all she knew Lexa was vaguely constipated) before everything cleared and she looked bored at best.

“As if I would have anything to do with Clarke Griffin,” she said, raising her chin, eyes flashing. Lincoln opened his mouth to answer, but Clarke had had enough.

She turned on her heel and stomped off, hating—absolutely hating, with every fiber of her meager and terribly unintimidating body—the arrogant, stuck up, judgmental _asshole_ that was Lexa Woods. (Not that she was hurt or anything, _obviously_ she couldn’t have cared less about what Lexa thought of her, but really, she should’ve known better than to think this wedding would be anything but a disaster in the making.)

And of course—despite Octavia’s questionable romantic taste and the fact that her sister in all but blood would likely marry into the Woods family that seemed to have one rather questionable member—Lexa had incurred the wrath of the great Griffin grudge, so she assumed it’d be the last she’d see of the stupidly pretty and stupidly annoying brunette.

But she was wrong. _Boy_ , was she wrong.

(She never could catch a break.)

//

“So it’s a date, yeah?”

“I mean, technically. I guess.”

“And you want me there?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t, Clarke.”

“So wait, he’s into threesomes? A sister kink? Because you’re gonna have to get me a lot more drunk for that.”

“Ew, Clarke, no. It’s just that he’s been hurt before and Lexa wants to take precautions. She’s vetting me out, you know?”

“ _Oh_ , that’s it, isn’t it? You want me there to distract Miss Arrogant. Well, sorry, no can do. I’m terribly busy Friday night.”

“With what? Your books?”

“I’ll have you know, the books and I are in a committed relationship, okay?”

“Please, Clarke. I actually really like him, I want this to go well. Just…put on something pretty and chat up Lexa so Lincoln and I can have some time alone.”

“Have you _met_ Lexa?”

“So she’s a bit prickly—”

“Prickly? Come _on_ , Octavia, the girl is a straight up knife of doom.”

“From what I hear, she’s not so straight at all.”

“You think you can bribe me? She’s pretty, but no. She’s not _that_ pretty.” 

“Clarke. I stuck by you when you had that unfortunate haircut—”

“—and I paid for that in smoothies—”

“—and I never judged you for that crush on Niylah, even though she was problematic at best—”

“—so she was slightly interested in fires, that doesn’t make her a pyromaniac—”

“— _and_ I stuck by you in the Bellamy and Clarke showdown of 2014.”

“To be fair, Bellamy didn’t even _want_ you on his side.”

“Clarke.”

“ _Octavia_.”

“Do this for me and I’ll owe you. Any favor, no questions asked.”

“Just one date?”

“Just one.”

“And I don’t have to pretend I like Lexa?”

“Not at all. Just…distract her.”

“Any favor?”

“Anything you could possibly come up with.”

“All right, fine. But you’re paying for my drinks and my dinner. The library doesn’t play nearly enough for a night out.”

“You should really quit.”

“Shut up, Octavia, we were discussing your lame life choices, not mine.”

//

In the end, come Friday evening, Clarke put on a nice dress without much fuss and accepted her fate. She was doomed to a night valiantly trying _not_ to stab Lexa Woods with a fork—she could do it. After all, she’d dealt with Finn Collins since middle school and she had yet to maim him in any capacity.

(And with Octavia smiling the way she was when she saw Lincoln outside the restaurant, with Lincoln returning that same lame and sappy smile, well, Clarke could admit that this was a small price to pay for her sister’s happiness.)

(It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that for whatever reason, Lexa looked prettier than the first time they’d met.)

(Seriously. _Nothing_.)

Surprisingly though, dinner went fairly well. Neither Lexa nor Clarke talked much, focused far more on their food or the other patrons of the restaurant, and for the most part, Lincoln and Octavia didn’t even seem to notice they were there. At one point, Lexa awkwardly said something about the history of the restaurant—how’d it been around since the early twentieth century, then naming famous people who’d eaten there—and Clarke had acted interested and even smiled genuinely (but not touched, _obviously_ not touched) when Lexa blushed and admitted she’d looked it up before they got here, just so she’d have something to talk about.

(And okay, if she thought it was _slightly_ adorable, it was clearly the influence of Lincoln and Octavia’s sappiness and the alcohol. Clearly.)

It was the walk around the park after dinner that ruined everything.

Octavia and Lincoln were walking several feet in front of Clarke and Lexa, heads tilted towards each other, hands brushing one too many times for it to be an accident. It was cute, in that sickening way that had Clarke sure she wouldn’t hear the end of how ‘wonderful’ the date was for days to come. She was willing to deal with it though. It hadn’t been too bad, even if Lexa had once again adopted her vaguely bored expression, choosing to remain silent as they walked.

But then she had to go and ruin it.

“You know, I hadn’t even wanted to come at first.”

“Really?” Clarke muttered, not at all keen to have this conversation.

“I have a great deal of reading to get through.” She paused and frowned, as if unsure about something. “I’m in school, studying law.”

“Right.”

“But Lincoln was so excited about this I couldn’t say no,” Lexa continued, either unaware of Clarke’s icy tone or choosing to ignore it.

“It makes sense you’re studying law, considering you’re only here to judge Octavia.” ( _And me,_ Clarke didn’t mention.) Lexa blinked and stopped walking, her frown deepening, as her gaze brought Clarke to a halt as well.

“I don’t—Lincoln is my brother, he’s important to me.”

“So that gives you right to meddle in his love life?”

“It’s not meddling, Clarke,” she said, the click of the ‘k’ in her name sounding harsh and jarring. “I assume you want the very best for Octavia, don’t you?”

“But why should you or I be the judge of what’s best for them?”

“We’re not judging,” Lexa said, shaking her head and looking utterly confused. “We’re merely acting as a sounding board, giving them a chance to ask for our informed opinions.”

“And if these informed opinions influence their decision?”

“If they’re so easily swayed, then perhaps the connection isn’t as strong as they think.”

“And you believe you have the right to assume the strength of their connection?”

“God, Clarke, no,” Lexa said, looking rather shocked and just a tad…well, was that excited? “This is just a first date, Lincoln didn’t want to be alone because he’s been hurt in the past. But look at that.” She pointed over to where Octavia and Lincoln, much further ahead now on the path, were still talking. “Does that look like something _my_ opinion will influence?”

“So you’re not here to prove to Lincoln we’re not the sort of people he should surround himself with? Especially since we’re friends with _that_ _drunk_?”

“What are you—” She cut herself off, closing her eyes and letting out a sigh. “You overheard me at the wedding.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Clarke,” she said, running her fingers through her hair and stepping forward, opening her eyes and forcing Clarke to meet her gaze, “he’s my _brother_. I’ve protected him my entire life. After our parents died, I—” She stopped, swallowing hard and stepping away. “Was I harsh? Probably. But that’s the way we’ve survived.”

“You know, ‘probably’ isn’t the right word there.” (Okay, so she knew she was being kind of a dick, but in her defense, she was still reeling from how easily Lexa managed to break free of the great Griffin grudge.)

(Was it wrong that she was so moved by the little emotion Lexa was showing?)

(Well, _probably._ )

“Fine, you’re right. I’m sorry for what I said.” Clarke nodded and without really thinking about it, she hooked her arm through Lexa’s and pulled her forward, forcing her to walk.

“This is a good thing, Lexa,” she said, not looking at her. “Now you don’t have to pretend you like me.”

Lexa didn’t answer, but then, Clarke hadn’t exactly expected her to.

//

“So I hear you work at the library?”

“Holy shit, are you _stalking_ me?” Lexa grinned quickly, holding up a cup of coffee in her hand, raising her eyebrow as she waited pointedly until Clarke gave her order to the barista.

“Should I ask you that question?”

“I thought we had a deal, Woods.”

“Did we?”

“You don’t have to pretend to like spending time with me,” Clarke reminded her, rolling her eyes as she waited for her drink. She tapped her foot against the floor, ignoring Lexa’s soft chuckle.

“But what if I like arguing with you?” Clarke looked at her with a bemused expression.

“That’s weird.”

“What you call weird, I call scintillating conversation.”

“Lonely, are we?” Clarke asked, going for sarcastic and annoyed, but mostly sounding flustered and hating it.

“You’re the one who listened to me drone on about the history of a restaurant.”

“I was trying to be nice!” Clarke hissed as she grabbed her drink and rushed out of the coffee shop, ignoring the looks of the people waiting in line for their drinks. She was about to stalk off, get away from Lexa, but for whatever reason, her legs refused to listen to her brain, and instead she waited until Lexa noticed her and approached her hesitantly. “I was impressed that you knew so much about the rafters,” she said when Lexa was close enough, and the smile she got in response was, well, _pretty_.

(It was so very inconvenient.)

“Lincoln just said it was nerdy.”

“Well, yeah. It was that too. But nerdy isn’t bad.”

“No?”

“Not at all,” Clarke said, moving further down the street, expecting Lexa to follow her (and if her heart did something funny when Lexa acted as expected…well, she was just going to ignore that). “Some people are fond of the nerdy thing. I know I am.” _Shut up, shut up, shut up_.

“It’s just…” Lexa trailed off, biting her lip, something Clarke definitely didn’t stare at. Definitely. “People make me nervous. And some people more so.” She coughed, quickly taking a sip of her drink, her cheeks reddening just a tad. “The nervousness makes me awkward, I think. I either talk too little or too much.” 

“So Lincoln wasn’t lying. You _are_ shy,” Clarke realized, smiling fondly and not knowing why. “It’s okay to be shy.” Lexa nodded, shifting from foot to foot, her eyes finding and capturing Clarke’s rather easily considering all the talk about shyness.

“My point is that I didn’t really make a great first impression. And I don’t want you to think I’m meddling with your sister’s relationship with my brother.” She paused, having the grace to merely grin slightly when Clarke blushed as she remembered her mild rant in the park. “So I was hoping we could start over.”

“Start over?”

“Yes.” She stood straighter, shifting the coffee from her right to her left hand, and then holding out the former, looking as if she was about to greet a diplomat rather than a small town librarian. “Hello, I’m Lexa Woods.” Clarke stared at the proffered hand for a moment, her eyes narrowed playfully, but then with a exaggerated sigh, she took it, trying hard not to think about how soft the skin was, how her heart made a funny leap at the contact. (She wasn’t a very good job, unfortunately. Or maybe fortunately. She wasn’t quite sure.)

“Clarke Griffin,” she greeted, managing to function despite her not-quite-innocent thoughts of Lexa’s hand. “So I take it this means you _do_ like me?” Lexa stared at the sky, pretending to be vastly interested in a cloud. Clarke just took the opportunity to stare unashamedly at her neck. (Wait. What?)

“I have no idea what you mean, as we’ve just met and everything before never happened.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. I liked the walk through the park.” _Shut up, shut up, shut up_. Lexa’s eyes flew back to Clarke’s, mouth slightly ajar.

“What?”

“Scintillating conversation, Lexa. Really.” _Why aren’t you shutting up?_

“Yeah?”

“I have to go to work, but I’m glad we bumped into each other. We should do it more often.” (Why was she _flirting_?)

(Okay, so she knew why. It didn’t mean she had to admit it to herself.)

(Thoughts of Lexa’s hand once again invaded all her reason and sense.)

“Yeah,” Lexa smiled, and inconveniently, it was _still_ pretty. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have like a bajillion old one-shots but they're too short to justify posting on their own so I was thinking of a one-shot compilation like I had back in the day but also those are a little annoying so I wanted to know your thoughts. deleting the one-shots forever is also an option. I miss clexa I should write new stuff for them


End file.
